The Day My Brother Died, Every Clue Pointed to Me

I can make a dead person speak one last sentence, and for it I was branded a monster and driven out of my own home.

My mother stabbed me three times, but I was hard to kill, and I lived.

I've been questioning corpses by the riverbank for fourteen years, and the most vicious corpse I've ever seen was my own younger brother.

That day my mother's heart was dead as ash. She knew I wouldn't help her, but against all expectation, I came anyway.

I lit a stick of incense and bought the best coffin there was. But during the questioning of the corpse

the name my brother spoke turned out to be mine.

There were a lot of people at the riverbank landing. My mother was barely recognizable, crying so hard she nearly fainted.

The people around her pleaded earnestly, "Just swallow your pride and apologize to Logan. As his older brother, he can't just refuse to help."

"That's right. I'll tell you straightyour son died under strange circumstances, and we can't handle it for you. If you want your son to rest in peace, the only one you can ask is Logan."

My mother's lips went ashen, and she gritted her teeth in hatred. "That monster won't help me! He's a monster, a heartless beast. It was himit must have been that monster who cursed my son to death!"

Everyone shook their heads and sighed.

I came over in straw sandals, carrying a bottle of rice wine, swaying as I walked.

When people saw me, they cried out in surprise, "Ah! Logan's here! Quick! Logan's here!"

The neighbors automatically parted to make way. I looked down at my mother, and she stared up at me in shock, the hatred in her eyes slowly draining away.

"Youyou help your brother..."

Her voice was awkward, unfamiliar, but it carried a trace of pleading.

I agreed without hesitation. "All right."

Her voice trembled. "Really?"

The men who work the river with me had already gone down to prepare the things.

Fourteen years of working the river, and they all knewonce I said something, I always kept my word.

The work we do is a little lowly, but our word is a nail driven home, once and for all.

Marcus and Danny brought the things over. "Logan."

I didn't take them. I stared, unblinking, at the corpse in her arms.

This was the most vicious corpse I'd seen in fourteen years of this work.

"Dig up the gear from under the locust tree in the main hall."

The two of them exchanged a glance and went back at once.

I lit a cigarette. "Talk. Tell me what happened."

She looked at me, choking back sobs, and spoke with half-belief. "Your brother has been well-behaved since he was little. He never wandered off, never got mixed up with any shady people. But these past few days he's been strange. He shut himself in his room and wouldn't even draw the curtains. I went in oncepitch black, not a single ray of light. And there was a very strange smell I couldn't place."

I took off my coat, cigarette in my mouth, and while I listened I smeared the chicken-blood clay paste over my body.

"Just this morning, I went to call him for breakfast, but there was no one in the room. Soon the people from the riverbank landing came to the house and saidsaid the boy had fallen into the river!"

As usual, I asked, "How good was the boy at swimming?"

She suddenly grew agitated, rushed up and grabbed my hand. "He's a better swimmer than you! Even if you died, he would" She stopped herself abruptly and readjusted. "I mean, hehe must have been murdered by someone!"

Her words were always like this. I never took them to heart.

As she spoke, her voice stopped short for an instant.

I looked down. Her hand had landed on my scar, and she froze, staring at it.

This scar ran down from below the collarbone and stretched all the way to my wrist.

I shook her hand off and kept smearing the clay paste over myself.

I have three scars like this on my body.

One is on my neck, one is over my heart.

When I was thrown out of the house, she cut them herself. I was hard to kill and survivedthe scars just came out ugly. At least I kept my life.

"I beg you, help my child. As long as the murderer is caught and he can rest in peace, I'll do anything you ask."

"He's the only son I have. I beg you, help me. If you want to settle the score afterward, my life is yours!"

I gave a scornful smile. What would I want with her life?

"Boss, we've dug it up!"

Looking at that old wooden chest, I sat down cross-legged. "Open the chest. Question the corpse."

Marcus and Danny cleared the scene at once, forcing everyone present to fall back five meters.

I've only used this chest once.

The last time was a vicious one too. I held out for seven days and seven nights and nearly worked myself to death.

Looking at this face that was seventy percent like my own, I had a feeling I couldn't put into words.

I lit the ritual incense, and the paper talisman I used to light it burned three times and went out three times.

The fourth time, thunder rolled, and a bolt of red lightning struck half an inch in front of me.

I didn't dodge, but the hand holding the incense was shaking.

The ritual incense snapped itself into three pieces. I buried it in the ground and put away the chest.

My mother rushed over, asking anxiously, "What happened? Why did you stop? Who is the murderer?!"

I looked up. The sky had been perfectly clear, and now it was choked with dark clouds, lightning and thunder.

"Today's no good. Let me go take a look at your house now."

She lowered her head in disappointment, tears falling in big drops. "It won't do any good to go. In our family, no one has ever offended anyone but you."

She wiped away her tears and walked home dejectedly.

Marcus and Danny followed behind me, and I handed them the chest.

The two of them watched me with concern, and I shook my head to reassure them.

Sigh. I didn't want to take on this mess either, but it was a little late to say that now.

I followed her back to this home from fourteen years ago. Nothing had changed.

I pushed open the door to Jonathan's room. It was pitch black, and the person behind me screamed on the spot.

Pointing at the room, she said, "Smell it! It's this eerie smell!"

I exchanged a glance with Marcus and Danny. They shook their heads.

I walked in and turned on the light, explaining, "It's just a musty smell. Open the window and air it out for a few days and it'll be gone."

On the wall was a large photo of me, except all the features had been slashed apart.

The force and the destructiveness of itno matter how you looked at it, it seemed like utter loathing.

I lifted my chin. "He did that?"

Behind me, my mother's voice came low and heavy. "It has nothing to do with the murderer, does it."

I smiled, quickly understanding what she really meant. I looked at her and said with certainty, "You did it."

I didn't look at her expression again. I walked around the room, picked a few strands of hair off the bed, and headed back with Marcus and Danny.

"The coffin shop hasn't closed yet, has it?"

"Not yet."

I took out the money. "Go buy me the best coffin and haul it to the riverbank landing. Remember, the best one."

Once I'd given the order, I carried the old wooden chest down to the riverside.

The sky darkened, and everyone who'd come to gawk had gone home.

Every year a lot of people die in this riversome drown, some are killed.

Every year I catch more criminals than I can count, but this one, I have to admit, had me stumped.

I sat beside my brother's body and burned a lot of paper.

"Your brother will help you one more time. Don't hurt your brother. Work with me, all right?"

Behind me came Marcus's voice. "Big brother, the coffin's here!"

Marcus's voice came from behind me. I stubbed out my cigarette and turned to look.

Two men were carrying a red coffin, hauling it laboriously toward the riverbank. I stared for a few seconds, then frowned.

"Why is it red? Is this the most expensive one?"

Marcus, sweat pouring down his face, set the coffin on the ground and nodded, panting. "Positive! It was just finished today. We hit every coffin shop in town and asked around a few timesthis is the most expensive one."

I circled the coffin, reached out and rapped the planks. The sound was solid.

I sighed. "All right. It's all fate."

Danny wiped the sweat off his face. "Logan, are you really going to keep questioning it?"

"Mm."

"But... even in daylight it turned out like that."

He glanced over at Jonathan's body as he spoke, his voice dropping noticeably. "I just keep feeling something's wrong with this corpse."

The sky had gone completely dark. Only a few of us were left at the riverbank landing. Jonathan lay there, his face even more blue-gray than in the daylight, the corners of his eyes black, the eyes themselves terribly red.

Marcus hunched his neck. "I feel like something's off too."

I crouched down and reopened the old wooden chest. "So we have to try again."

The way those three sticks of ritual incense snapped in the daytime was too strange, and that bolt of red lightning was no ordinary thing either.

I've been doing corpse-questioning for fourteen years. It's not that I've never met a violent corpse. But usually, the more violent the corpse, the more it means the death was unjust, the resentment with no way out.

Yet here with Jonathan, everything ran the opposite way. It really did feel strange.

As if he had something to say, and something was pressing down hard, refusing to let him say it.

Marcus watched me take out my gear, his face turning grim. "What else do you need?"

"People."

"What?"

I looked at the empty riverbank and answered flatly. "There aren't enough people. Figure something outround up some of the folks around here just to fill in the numbers. Pay them, beg them, whatever it takes. Bring as many as you can."

Danny pulled a miserable face on the spot. "Ah... Logan, look at the time. Take a good look at Jonathan right nowred eyes, blue-gray face. He's unnerving even in broad daylight, and now there's not even any light out here. If you ask those people to come, they won't dare."

"I know."

I bowed my head over my gear and sighed. "There's no other way. First, I already gave my word. Second, the one lying here is my own brother. I can't help it."

My hands stopped for a moment. I looked up. "Do me this favor."

Marcus didn't say anything more. He gave Danny a pat, and the two of them turned and left.

I sat alone beside Jonathan, the river wind sweeping over me, damp and cold.

Fourteen years apart, and I didn't even know what he liked to eat.

I didn't know what he liked to do, or what his temper was like. He looked like meseven parts out of ten.

Especially around the brow.

By all rights our family should have had nothing more to do with each other, yet here he was, lying in front of me. That feelingI couldn't name it.

The thought made me restless. I dug out another cigarette.

I held it between my fingers a long while, then finally tucked it back.

About half an hour later, lights began to appear in the distance, one after another. The folks had come after all.

Not one of them dared come empty-handedalmost everyone carried a lamp, some even carried two.

Once they reached the river they wouldn't go any farther, all standing off at a distance, packed together in a knot.

A few of the more timid ones simply turned their backs, not daring to look at Jonathan's body, rubbing their arms over and over, muttering something under their breath.

My mother had come too. She stood at the very front, her face grim.

When she saw me, she immediately looked away.

I paid her no mind and kept arranging my things.

Then she suddenly turned and asked Oswald, "Dragging us out in the middle of the nightwhat is he even doing? Oswald, can he really do this? No matter how I look at him, he doesn't seem like a normal person."

Oswald glanced at me and murmured to comfort her. "Don't worry, Logan is very good at this. You know yourself how many people he's cleared over the years. As long as Jonathan really died an unjust death, he'll be able to speak. And once he speaks, there's no mistaking it."

My mother went even paler. "Oswald, the way you say it is downright frightening."

She fixed her stare on me. "Loganis he a person or a ghost?"

Oswald was caught off guard, then frowned at her. "What kind of thing is that to say? Isn't he your son?"

She said nothing more.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught her looka look I had seen fourteen years ago.

Loathing, disgust, and fear.

That's how she looked at me back then, too. From beginning to end she believed I was a monster that had crawled out of her belly.

I pulled my attention back. I couldn't be bothered to listen anymore.

My things were about ready.

I sat cross-legged beside Jonathan and took three sticks of ritual incense out of the old wooden chest.

In the daytime this incense had been lit three times and had gone out three times.

This time was strangethe moment the flame touched it, it caught at once.

My hand froze for an instant.

The next second, a wild wind kicked up over the river.

A whooshing howl, and the folks all sucked in a breath together.

The wind came fast and evil, setting all the lanterns around us swaying and swaying.

A few of them cried out in fright, and some had already started edging away to run.

I raised a hand against the wind.

When I looked down again, the incense flame, once red, was slowly turning green.

Danny's eyes lit up instantly. He grabbed Marcus's arm. "It worked! It really worked!"

Marcus shot him a glare at once, and Danny quickly let go and shut his mouth.

I said nothing. I drew out a sheet of yellow paper and gently laid it over Jonathan's face.

Then I took out another sheet and lit it.

The corner of the paper began to blacken, the fire curling slowly upward.

I looked at Jonathan. "Was the dead man wronged?"

All around fell suddenly silent, not a single sound.

Everyone held their breath. A few seconds later, something suddenly sounded in Jonathan's throat.

"Click."

Very faint, and then, "Click, click."

Like something lodged in his throat, or like bone grinding against bone inside.

Oswald's face changed. He quickly pulled my mother forward two steps. "He's about to speakquick, listen!"

My mother froze in place, her breathing gone shallow.

The paper in my hand was still burning when the clicking suddenly stopped.

The next second, a low, hoarse voice forced itself out, word by word, from beneath that face covered by yellow paper.

"Lo..."

My hand jerked to a stop. The burning paper had already reached my fingertips.

And in my ears was the full name. "Logan."